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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 80/761
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He
went
on
again
,
and
Arthur
accompanied
him
.
‘
My
brother
,
’
said
the
old
man
,
pausing
on
the
step
and
slowly
facing
round
again
,
‘
has
been
here
many
years
;
and
much
that
happens
even
among
ourselves
,
out
of
doors
,
is
kept
from
him
for
reasons
that
I
needn
’
t
enter
upon
now
.
Be
so
good
as
to
say
nothing
of
my
niece
’
s
working
at
her
needle
.
Be
so
good
as
to
say
nothing
that
goes
beyond
what
is
said
among
us
.
If
you
keep
within
our
bounds
,
you
cannot
well
be
wrong
.
Now
!
Come
and
see
.
’
Arthur
followed
him
down
a
narrow
entry
,
at
the
end
of
which
a
key
was
turned
,
and
a
strong
door
was
opened
from
within
.
It
admitted
them
into
a
lodge
or
lobby
,
across
which
they
passed
,
and
so
through
another
door
and
a
grating
into
the
prison
.
The
old
man
always
plodding
on
before
,
turned
round
,
in
his
slow
,
stiff
,
stooping
manner
,
when
they
came
to
the
turnkey
on
duty
,
as
if
to
present
his
companion
.
The
turnkey
nodded
;
and
the
companion
passed
in
without
being
asked
whom
he
wanted
.
The
night
was
dark
;
and
the
prison
lamps
in
the
yard
,
and
the
candles
in
the
prison
windows
faintly
shining
behind
many
sorts
of
wry
old
curtain
and
blind
,
had
not
the
air
of
making
it
lighter
.
A
few
people
loitered
about
,
but
the
greater
part
of
the
population
was
within
doors
.
The
old
man
,
taking
the
right
-
hand
side
of
the
yard
,
turned
in
at
the
third
or
fourth
doorway
,
and
began
to
ascend
the
stairs
.
‘
They
are
rather
dark
,
sir
,
but
you
will
not
find
anything
in
the
way
.
’
He
paused
for
a
moment
before
opening
a
door
on
the
second
story
.
He
had
no
sooner
turned
the
handle
than
the
visitor
saw
Little
Dorrit
,
and
saw
the
reason
of
her
setting
so
much
store
by
dining
alone
.
She
had
brought
the
meat
home
that
she
should
have
eaten
herself
,
and
was
already
warming
it
on
a
gridiron
over
the
fire
for
her
father
,
clad
in
an
old
grey
gown
and
a
black
cap
,
awaiting
his
supper
at
the
table
.
A
clean
cloth
was
spread
before
him
,
with
knife
,
fork
,
and
spoon
,
salt
-
cellar
,
pepper
-
box
,
glass
,
and
pewter
ale
-
pot
.
Such
zests
as
his
particular
little
phial
of
cayenne
pepper
and
his
pennyworth
of
pickles
in
a
saucer
,
were
not
wanting
.
She
started
,
coloured
deeply
,
and
turned
white
.
The
visitor
,
more
with
his
eyes
than
by
the
slight
impulsive
motion
of
his
hand
,
entreated
her
to
be
reassured
and
to
trust
him
.
‘
I
found
this
gentleman
,
’
said
the
uncle
—
‘
Mr
Clennam
,
William
,
son
of
Amy
’
s
friend
—
at
the
outer
gate
,
wishful
,
as
he
was
going
by
,
of
paying
his
respects
,
but
hesitating
whether
to
come
in
or
not
.
This
is
my
brother
William
,
sir
.
’
